


Save Me

by kinole009x



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Johnica Week 2020, One Shot, Protective Freddie Mercury, Romance, Sad John Deacon, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:54:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22246675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinole009x/pseuds/kinole009x
Summary: After The Magic Tour of 1986, Freddie approaches Ronnie to help him save John from his alcohol problem.  But he gives Ronnie a difficult mission...act like a drunk herself.
Relationships: John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40
Collections: Johnica Week 2020





	Save Me

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of Johnica Week 2020!  
> Prompt: Coming Home.

**1986**

It was ridiculous. Preposterous even. Absolutely inconceivable. Yet it may have been just crazy enough to work...  
  
 _No!_ Ronnie thought firmly to herself. _It's deceitful, it's dishonest, it's wrong.  
_  
And so, wiping away a tear, she whispered, "Freddie, I can't."  
  
Freddie, standing in her kitchen at midnight wearing a Mickey Mouse t-shirt and holding three giant bottles of vodka (two empty and one full), allowed his face to fall. "But darling, you have to."  
  
"But I don't _want_ to hurt him," Ronnie said sadly. _He's already hurt himself enough and I don't even know why._  
  
Freddie set the bottles down on the kitchen table. "Well, quite frankly darling, neither do I. But that's the only way we're going to get through to him."  
  
"What if I try to talk to him when he comes home?" Ronnie suggested hopefully.  
  
Freddie fixed her with a stern stare. "Haven't you tried to talk to him before?"  
  
"Yes," Ronnie dropped her head and studied her bare toes.  
  
"How many times?"  
  
"I've lost count."  
  
"And has that ever worked?" Freddie inquired.  
  
"Not...not exactly."  
  
Freddie put his hands on Ronnie's shoulders and she finally looked up.  
  
"Then what makes you think that this time will be any different?" he asked gently.  
  
Ronnie folded her arms as another tear ran down her cheek.  
  
"Ronnie darling," Freddie said sympathetically. "Roger, Brian, and myself have all tried to intervene. And he listens to our reasoning - you know how polite our Deaky is - but he won't admit to himself that he has a problem."  
  
"Freddie, I _can't_ do this," Ronnie reiterated, her voice low. "I'm a terrible actress and...I don't have it in me to break his heart like this."  
  
Freddie sighed. "Then I have no choice but to tell you."  
  
"Tell me what?"  
  
"What happened on this tour. I was going to spare you but..."  
  
"Tell me," Ronnie said immediately, as she felt fear spread throughout her chest.  
  
"At our last show, John...well, he sort of...threw his bass," Freddie explained.  
  
"Threw it where?"  
  
"Across the stage."  
  
Ronnie's jaw dropped.  
  
"And then he ran away," Freddie added. "It took us forever to find him."  
  
Ronnie dropped her face into her hands.  
  
"And he wasn't just having a rock star moment, darling," Freddie said, as he put a comforting arm around her. "He was drunk, and he made himself drunk because he was upset about something."  
  
"What was he upset about?" Ronnie asked, her voice muffled.  
  
Freddie suddenly looked uncomfortable. "He may have received some distressing news about a friend..."  
  
Ronnie removed her hands from her eyes and looked questioningly at Freddie.  
  
"But that doesn't matter now," Freddie said dismissively. "What matters is that he's already been having a hard time for the last few years, and on that night he received some bad news on top of everything, and he's dealing with his emotions in the wrong way."  
  
Ronnie slowly nodded, lost in thought. "By drinking himself into numbness."  
  
"That's why he needs you more than ever, my dear," Freddie said softly. "And he doesn't know it now, but he _needs_ you to do this, to make him see how drinking affects the people around him."  
  
Ronnie bit her lip as she internally wrestled with her conscience, before groaning and saying, "Fine. Tell me what I have to do."  
  
Freddie let out a noisy sigh of relief. "Thank God!"  
  
"Quickly! Before I lose my nerve and change my mind!"  
  
Freddie lifted Ronnie onto the kitchen counter. He pushed her back gently, so that she was leaning against a cabinet, and propped her leg up suggestively. However, she was too close to the sink, and she felt her foot slip, before plunging into cold, soapy water.  
  
With a gasp, Ronnie lifted her foot out of the sink.  
  
"No!" Freddie said, as he forced it back into the water. "That's _perfect,_ darling! That's exactly what a drunk person would do!"  
  
And with that being said, Freddie went about setting the scene for this very important drama. He animatedly rushed over to the vodka bottles, placing one empty one on its side on the kitchen table, and the other empty one on the floor, near the doorway.   
  
He looked up at Ronnie expectantly. "Wine glasses?"  
  
Ronnie pointed to a cabinet. "There, second shelf to the right," she said wearily.  
  
Freddie retrieved a single glass, poured vodka into it, and set the almost full bottle beside Ronnie on the kitchen counter.   
  
"Now, take a small sip for me, dear," Freddie instructed, as he handed Ronnie the wine glass, "so that you at least smell like you've been drinking."   
  
Ronnie obeyed, bringing the glass to her lips, before immediately sticking her tongue out. "Ugh!"  
  
"Can you act drunk?" Freddie asked.  
  
"I'll do my best," Ronnie whispered, as two more tears slipped down her face.  
  
"No, darling," Freddie said gently, as he wiped them away with his thumbs. "If you cry, he'll know."   
  
"Freddie, this doesn't feel right."  
  
"Believe me, darling. I didn't want to submit to sorcery, but if it's the only thing that will make him see what he's doing to himself..." Freddie shrugged. "Then so be it."  
  
Ronnie nodded bravely.  
  
"Consider it a good kick in the arse," Freddie said, before adding quickly, "Lovingly, of course."  
  
Ronnie took a deep breath. "All right. But if it fails, I'm blaming you."  
  
"Fair enough," Freddie agreed, as he looked at the clock. "Roger and Brian have been 'broken down'..."  
  
And while saying this, Freddie made quotation marks in the air with his fingers.  
  
"...at the side of the road long enough. I'm sure that, by now, Deaky has forced himself to the engine and convinced them there's nothing wrong and to bring him home."  
  
Right on cue, there was a soft clinking noise at the front door as John inserted his key in the lock, and the door opened.  
  
Freddie plucked a flower from the vase on the counter and put it into Ronnie's free hand. "A prop for you, my dear," he said quickly. "May it help you in your quest to be drunk."  
  
Then, he kissed her cheek. "I'll never be able to repay you for this, darling." And finally, he slipped out the back door.  
  
Feeling treacherous butterflies of steel in the pit of her stomach, Ronnie listened with unbearable anticipation as John's footsteps slowly echoed off the polished wood in the hallway. He was coming closer, and closer, and...  
  
"Ronnie?" he whispered, as he appeared in the doorway.  
  
She fixed a cheerful smile on her face. "Hi John."  
  
John took in the sight of his wife on the counter, holding a wine glass and a flower and resting her foot in the cold dishwater in the sink. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Celebrating the end of the tour," Ronnie said, slurring her words slightly and raising her glass. "Cheers!"  
  
John stared at her in horror.  
  
Realizing she wasn't having quite enough impact, Ronnie removed her foot from the sink, clumsily got onto her feet, and stood on the counter, while accidentally bumping her head on the ceiling. "Ouch!"  
  
John stretched out a hand towards her. "Ronnie...Ronnie, sit down."  
  
"I will do no such thing!" Ronnie exclaimed as she dumped her wine in the sink and then dropped the glass in the soapy water because, quite frankly, she couldn't stand the smell of vodka.  
  
In an instant, John was in front of her, holding out his arms to her. "R-Ronnie. Please."  
  
"Well come on, then!" Ronnie snatched the vodka bottle and waved it around in the air. "Come and join me!"  
  
"Ronnie, come _down_. Carefully now...I'll catch you."  
  
"I've got an idea! _You_ come up to _me._ "  
  
"Ronnie," John pleaded.  
  
"Come, John, you can see for miles and miles up here!" Ronnie stepped over the sink, with the intention of tiptoeing ridiculously down the opposite kitchen counter, but her wet foot caused her to slip, and she lost her balance.  
  
John caught her by the waist and slung her over his shoulder as she continued to prattle on, "for miles and miles and miles and..." She hiccuped for good measure.  
  
John silently headed towards the kitchen doorway.   
  
"Where are we going?" Ronnie asked in an excited whisper.  
  
" _You're_ going to bed," John said firmly.  
  
"Excellent! How about we have a bit of fun, hmm?" Ronnie wrapped her legs tightly around his waist. "I've missed you, you know."  
  
And she pressed a firm kiss against his lips.  
  
John ran his tongue over his lower lip. "You _have_ been drinking."  
  
"Have I now?"  
  
"You have!"  
  
Ronnie frowned. "What have I been doing again?"  
  
"Veronica!"  
  
"Veronica!" Ronnie exclaimed and pinched his cheek. "So stern, you are!"  
  
"I'm taking you to bed," John said quietly. "We can talk about this in the morning."  
  
"But I want to talk _now_ ," Ronnie grabbed the door frame and clung to it tightly.  
  
John tried to wrench her away from the doorway. "You're too intoxicated to have a meaningful conversation!"  
  
Ronnie tickled John in the ribs and, caught off guard, he loosened his grip on her. But before she could fully escape, he dropped to his knees, pulling her down with him.   
  
She was quickly running out of ideas on how to act drunk. She wracked her mind, until she finally remembered a certain episode of _EastEnders_ , where Anita Dobson's character, Angie, was drunk on her anniversary...  
  
She was still holding the flower that Freddie had so thoughtfully given to her as a prop and so, gently setting aside the bottle of vodka, she plucked off one petal, then another, as she lowered herself onto her back. "He loves me, he loves me not."  
  
John carefully straddled her.  
  
"He loves me, he loves me..." Ronnie snapped the stem in half. "...not."  
  
John folded his arms and fixed her with an unnerving stare.  
  
 _Come on, Ronnie, you can do better than this,_ she thought to herself. She was clearly frustrating him, but that was about it. She hadn't made her way to his heart quite yet.  
  
Snatching the vodka bottle, Ronnie took a giant swig, and though she tried not to, she made a face. Whatever Freddie had selected was quite awful. She hoped John hadn't noticed her reaction.  
  
"Come now, John, I'll pour you a drink!"  
  
"I don't _want_ a drink."  
  
"I know it's not as much variety as you're used to having on stage but," Ronnie shrugged, purposefully referencing his backstage bar. "Eh! Whatever!"  
  
John's frown deepened. "Who told you about that?"  
  
Ronnie laughed but it was a low, frightening sound deep in her throat.  
  
John grasped the neck of the bottle, but Ronnie held on tightly to it as he tried to take it away from her.  
  
" _You're_ allowed to drown your woes in alcohol!" she argued. "Why can't I?"  
  
"Because _you_ are better than I am!" John said, his voice pained.  
  
It was at that moment that Ronnie, with an aching heart, almost stopped the entire charade to tell him the truth. But a voice in her head that sounded very much like Freddie's told her that she had struck a chord, she had made progress, and if she were to turn back now, it would all have been for nothing.  
  
In order for this moment to be meaningful, she had to go all the way.  
  
"But I'm not, am I?" she challenged him, as she tried to push him off her.  
  
"Ronnie!"  
  
"What's the matter, John?" Ronnie wriggled like a worm under him. "Not glad to be home?"  
  
John grasped her wrists and pinned them over her head as he tried to control her motions.  
  
"Oh!" Ronnie said, forcing a note of delight into her voice. "Are you going to take me now?"  
  
John leaned closer. "Do you want me to?"  
  
Ronnie felt her heart beat faster. "Yes!"  
  
John pressed a kiss against her collarbone. Slowly, he worked his way up, planting a kiss on her neck, on her jawline, right below her ear, before...  
  
"I know you're not drunk," he whispered into her ear.  
  
Ronnie went still. "What?"  
  
John's breath was hot against her neck. "You gave yourself away with the face you made after drinking the vodka. If you couldn't handle a single sip, how could you get yourself to drink enough of it to get intoxicated?"  
  
Ronnie closed her eyes and sent a silent apology to Freddie, wherever he currently was. _I failed._  
  
John sat up, carefully keeping his full weight off of her, before whispering in disbelief, _"Why?"_  
  
Ronnie opened her eyes. "Because I wanted you to see what it's like."  
  
A tear slipped down John's face, before he angrily wiped it away, got to his feet, and held out his hand to her. She took it, allowing him to help her up.  
  
He turned to leave and the thought that she may not have gotten through to him after all, after all that nonsense, was too much to bear. Ronnie grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him back towards her.  
  
"How's it feel, John?" she asked, though she kept her voice gentle. "To not be able to reach someone? For someone you love to not respond to you no matter how hard you try?"  
  
John said nothing as he stared down at her, his lower lip trembling.  
  
"Daddy?"  
  
John and Ronnie quickly spun around, to see their little daughter, Laura, standing uncertainly in the doorway and clutching the hem of her white nightgown. She lifted her leg and poked the empty vodka bottle with one tiny toe.  
  
John immediately sniffed back his emotions and picked her up, settling her on his hip.  
  
"Are you and Mummy fighting?" Laura asked, concerned.  
  
"No, my love," John said quietly, before turning his gaze on Ronnie. "Your mum's just..."  
  
Ronnie pressed a hand against her mouth.  
  
John swallowed hard, never taking his eyes off Ronnie's, before finishing in a miserable whisper, "...playing a game."  
  
Another tear ran down his face. Laura reached out with a small finger, touched it, and whispered, "Daddy, why are you sad?"  
  
John turned and carried her towards the staircase. "Because I missed you."  
  
"Well, don't go away then!" Laura exclaimed, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.  
  
Ronnie heard John laugh, followed by footsteps going up the stairs. "I think I'm home for good now."  
  
No more touring? Well, _that_ was certainly good news, Ronnie thought to herself.  
  
But the bad news was that she had stooped to an outlandish level in order to make things better, and she most likely had just made things worse. With a hand still covering her mouth, Ronnie dashed through the hallway and let herself onto the porch.  
  
It was stifling hot outside, which made sense for August, but Ronnie couldn't have cared less. She lay on her side on the rickety old porch swing, squeezed her eyes shut, and cried herself into a numb, dreamless sleep.  
  
She awoke when she felt a hand on her back. Opening her sore eyes, she found herself staring into John's concerned face.  
  
"I looked _everywhere_ for you," he whispered. "And when I couldn't find you I..." He shook his head.   
  
Ronnie sat up. "What time is it?"  
  
John nodded behind him, at the first pink hints of dawn in the sky.  
  
"Oh," Ronnie said softly.  
  
John knelt before her, taking her hands in his, and it was so much like how they used to be that Ronnie felt her eyes filling with tears once more.  
  
"Did Freddie put you up to...to that?" he asked her quietly. "Earlier?"  
  
"He might have, yes," Ronnie answered, looking away.  
  
She felt John's fingers gently grasp her chin and turn her face back down to his intense stare.  
  
"I didn't want to," Ronnie said suddenly, before she burst into tears all over again.  
  
John gently took her hand in his and circling his other arm around her, pulled her onto the floor, so that she was closer to him. He took her face in his hands as her tears ran between his fingers and down the backs of his hands.  
  
"I told him no at first!" she cried. "And I hate myself for doing that to you, John, but there was no other way! We've all tried to talk to you, we've tried to help you, and there was no other choice. Words couldn't reach you, so we had to resort to action."  
  
"Well, it worked," John whispered. "It certainly affected me."  
  
Ronnie grasped his wrists. "I'm _glad_ it worked. You're too precious to lose to alcohol."  
  
"I'm not an alcoholic," John said softly.  
  
"I know! John, I know that. But we don't want to see you become one."  
  
John was silent for a moment, before he rose from the ground and sat on the porch swing.   
  
"Come here," he said, holding his hands out to Ronnie.   
  
Ronnie crawled onto the swing beside him and into his arms. John cradled her head against his chest and took a deep breath, because he had never told _anyone_ what he was about to tell her.  
  
"Imagine you're the bass player for one of the biggest rock bands in the world," John began. "Constantly on the road, playing sold out stadiums, loved by many..."  
  
Ronnie listened patiently as she watched the approaching dawn spread pink fingers further across the sky.  
  
"But also imagine that you're surrounded by people all the time, yet you still feel lonely. Imagine that you're also surrounded by all sorts of temptations that you can't indulge in, nor do you want to, because you have a beautiful wife at home, and she's almost single-handedly raising your four children, and you miss them all _so_ much, but try not to think of them because it hurts and because you feel so guilty being away from them all the time..."  
  
John firmly pressed his lips together to regain control of his emotions, while Ronnie sadly noticed that John was telling her what was happening to him in the second person, likely so he'd feel more comfortable pouring out his heart to her.  
  
"And so," John continued. "You drink to forget the pain of missing them. You drink to fit in, even though you know you never will. You drink to feel interesting enough to talk to new people. You drink because you're a rock star, but you can't live a rock star's life."  
  
Ronnie tightened her hold on him.  
  
"You drink because, even after all these years of playing on stage, sometimes your social anxiety strikes again and prevents you from stepping onto the stage. You drink because you know you need to get on that stage and not let the rest of the band down."  
  
John's voice grew hoarser.  
  
"You drink because touring is exhausting, but you don't know who you'd be without it. You drink to try to forget that when you do get home, it'll be difficult to revert back to being a normal person. You drink because it's so hard to lead a double life. You drink because if you don't, you'll break down in front of everyone on tour and humiliate yourself..."  
  
Ronnie looked up at him, just as he bowed his head and a tear slipped down his nose.   
  
"That's why I drink," he finished in a whisper.  
  
"John," Ronnie whispered, as he pulled her onto her lap and buried his face in her shoulder. "John, I didn't know..."  
  
"Nobody knows," he whispered, and she felt his shoulders begin to shake.  
  
Ronnie held him tightly. "Forgive me," she whispered. "Please, forgive me for what I did to you."  
  
John shook his head against her shoulder. "Freddie was right. I needed you to...to s-save me."  
  
"John, if you ever feel like this, then tell me so," Ronnie said softly as she rocked him back and forth. "I'm here for you every step of the way. If you're happy, then I'm happy. If you suffer, I suffer. I'll go through hell with you, John. Just say the word."  
  
John squeezed her so tightly that she almost felt the breath go out of her. "Thank you."  
  
Ronnie rubbed his back gently. "I love you."  
  
"I love you more."  
  
Ronnie smiled at that, before a thought occurred to her. "You told Laura you're home to stay. You're not going to tour anymore?"  
  
"I don't think so," John said sadly. "None of us are."  
  
Ronnie felt relief course through her veins as John finally looked up at her. Ronnie lifted the hem of her t-shirt and wiped his eyes.  
  
"Freddie said you received some distressing news about a friend..."  
  
John's face darkened momentarily. "I..."  
  
Ronnie watched as he observed the burst of orange color swelling in the sky.  
  
"I'll tell you about that when I can," he said finally. "But it's nothing to worry about right now."  
  
The sun made it's grand entrance then, and bathed their yard in yellow light.  
  
"You're going to be all right, John," Ronnie said gently.  
  
"I know," John pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Because I have you."  
  
And, so, they sat together on the porch and witnessed a sunrise that was not only the dawn of a new day, but the dawn of the next phase of their lives. The new day brought an infinite amount of hope to propel them into the future...  
  
"Does your offer still stand?" John asked suddenly.  
  
Ronnie looked down at him from where she was perched comfortably on his thighs. "What offer?"  
  
"To take you now?" John raised his eyebrow as a smile slowly spread across his face.  
  
Ronnie burst out laughing, realizing how ridiculous she was as a false drunk. "Cheeky!"  
  
John leaned his forehead against hers and laughed with her.  
  
...as they resolved to leave alcohol in the dead of the night.


End file.
